Lamentation
by SnarkyFanGirl
Summary: rated for some mild adult imagery. He feels his heart constricting inside his chest – he’s been waiting for this moment; has always known it would come.


_This is a short songfic inspired by the Leah Andreone song "Lamentation." The words in italics between the story are the song's lyrics. Enjoy!_

****

**Lamentation**

_Oh God, we're here  
And goodbye chokes on my tears_

He watches as she sits up and pulls her clothes on, feigning indifference. He knows that while her eyes remain dry, she is choking inside. He can relate; he feels the same way. He rises from the bed and reaches for his own clothes, determined not to look at her. She thinks that he is heartless and that he doesn't care for anyone other than himself, but it isn't true.

It hasn't been true since the moment he first touched her.

He pulls his shirt on over his head and runs shaking fingers through his white-blonde locks, trying to return some semblance of order to his life, temporary though it may be. The truth is that she's turned his world upside down; made black turn white and vice versa – and now he sees so many shades of grey that he wonders if anything will ever be the same again.

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees her pull a brush from her purse and run it through her hair. This makes him smirk to himself; her hair has always been wild and damn near impossible to control – just like her. He likes her hair being that way and he wishes that she wouldn't use so much Sleekeazy's on it, but he'd never tell her that.

It's not like she'd believe him, anyway.

Finally, after many moments of silence, she turns to face him. He feels his heart constricting inside his chest – he's been waiting for this moment; has always known it would come. Knowing doesn't make it any easier to stomach, though, and he can feel the hollow ache begin in his chest.

He has only himself to blame, he knows. He set himself up for this. She'd always hated him and everything that he represents, and changing sides during the war only assuaged the loathing temporarily. She fought side by side with him, protecting him from his worst enemy – his own anger at his father – and still he can sense that she doesn't trust him totally. He wonders if, even after all of this, she even _likes_ him.

After the final confrontation, she had been the one to hold him while he cried. To his knowledge, she has never mentioned that to another living soul. If she'd told Potter or Weasley, he feels sure that they would have taken the mickey out of him relentlessly by now.

She held him and whispered soothing words to him; words that he wishes desperately that he could remember now. No matter how hard he tries, he cannot call those comforting words to mind. Perhaps it's better this way; thinking of that day only makes him want her more, and he already wants her so badly that it hurts.

_While your exit seems so effortless,  
So mean, you don't fool me_

"This is the last time I'm going to meet with you," she says, clearing her throat. She's not meeting his eyes, and he thinks he knows why.

"They know," he says flatly. The telltale flush of her cheeks tells him everything that he needs to know.

"They didn't want me to come today, but I thought I at least owed you that much. To tell you in person, I mean."

"You don't owe me a damned thing," he drawls coldly, angry that even though she is a grown woman of twenty-six, her childhood friends are still controlling her life.

"You're right," she says, her back straightening. She meets his eyes and he is overcome with the urge to hold her. Her lower lip is trembling, and whether or not she realizes it, it means that she doesn't want to do what she's doing. "I don't."

He closes his eyes when she turns her back to him, and he remembers the feel of her soft skin pressed against his. He remembers the sensation of her lips and tongue exploring his flesh, and thinks how her touch has changed. Where there used to be hesitation and uncertainty, now there is only confidence.

Thinking of her makes him feel needy and weak, and he hates feeling that way. To distract his thoughts, he speaks. "Where will you go?"

"I don't know," she admits honestly. She looks down at her feet as she speaks. "And even if I _did_ know, I wouldn't tell you."

"Don't worry; it's not like I'd follow you," he says crossly. He lounges against the wall and eyes her coolly. "Potter and Weasley would hand me my lungs before I saw you again."

Her head snaps up and she stares at him with wide eyes. After a moment, her surprise softens, and her eyes fill with the last emotion he wants to see right now – _pity._

"I'm sorry."

"Are you?" he asks, cocking his head to the side. Her cheeks turn pink and she walks out the door without another word.

_When the morning wakes, you'll grab for me  
But the plane took me away_

He packs up the last of his belongings and shoves them into his bag, then minimizes it and shoves it deep into his pocket. The last thing to be concealed is his wand, which he tucks into his inside coat pocket. He checks his reflection in the mirror one final time, and goes downstairs to get inside the waiting cab.

At first, he'd thought that her idea of using Muggle transportation to and from their meeting places was a stupid idea, but now he sees the usefulness. Her friends would never think to look for them in a Muggle setting; they think that he thinks such things are distasteful.

There was a time when they would have been right, too.

That time has passed, though, and with it has passed his obsession about Purebloods and Mudbloods. He's seen war, and he knows now that wizards and muggles bleed alike.

He climbs aboard the airplane and wonders if she's taking a later flight back to England. They've spent the last three days in the United States, never leaving their hotel room. Oh, how he wishes now that he could go back to the start of their weekend and tell her everything that he's wanted to for months on end.

He wants to tell her how he's sold the Manor and donated all of the money to the orphanage that she fought to save from the Death Eaters. He wants to tell her that he's bought a cosy little two bedroom cottage at the edge of the woods in Godric's Hollow. He wants to tell her that she's changed him.

The fact that she hasn't seen it for herself after all this time has told him that she isn't ready to give him the things that he wants from her.

Perhaps things were better this way, anyway. He knows that she harbors feelings for him – she's bad at hiding her affections, no matter how hard she tries. Even if she's never said it, he knows that she's emotionally involved with him. The little things are what give her away – the tender way she brushes his hair away from his face; the way she kisses him after they've exhausted themselves physically; the tiny secret smiles she shoots at him when she thinks he isn't looking.

Staying the weekend with her had been effortless. It had felt completely natural and so _right_ that it frightened him and thrilled him at the same time. He stares out of the window as the plane lifts into the air and takes off, and the hollow ache that always filled his chest when he leaves her becomes a dull, throbbing pain.

_Are you scared of what you'll see?  
Do they mean more than me?_

When he awakens, the plane is descending onto the runway at Heathrow Airport. He rubs his eyes with his fists and stretches his neck to get rid of the cramp in it. He deboards the plane and exits the airport, ignoring all of the couples around him who are happily reuniting.

It hurts too much to see other people being happy, when he knows that he has touched happiness and had a taste of it, only to have it cruelly taken away from him. And really, what was Hermione in his life if not pure happiness?

After being raised by a mother who cared mostly for social gatherings and her public image and a father who followed a flawed leader, Draco hadn't been entirely certain that he even possessed the capacity to love someone, let alone be loved.

She has changed all of that.

On that final day, the day that ended the five-year long war, she had been there. She was the only person who had even given him a fair chance to begin with, and he thinks in retrospect that that was odd, in and of itself. She had been the person he'd teased and tormented so mercilessly, and yet she had been the first (the only) to extend a hand in cautious friendship.

After he'd cried in her arms, something had shifted between them. As his tears dried, he'd lifted his head from her lap to meet her eyes. What he found there had been a shock to his system; kindness and empathy emanated from her in palpable waves.

Before he could stop himself, he slid his lips onto hers and kissed her.

She hesitated before gently pushing him away, and he'd gotten up and left, shame washing over him. She'd merely been trying to comfort him, and he'd taken advantage of her and kissed her.

He remembers his surprise when she showed up at his front door less than an hour later, and he smiles to himself. He says aloud the words to lower the wards on his home, and then steps into the small living room. He hangs his coat on the hook that protrudes from the wall, and then removes his suitcase from his pocket and rights it before carrying it into his bedroom.

_Trying to try  
Trying to give you all your lines_

He's numb as he unpacks; the memories are still invading his mind. She'd shown up on his doorstep, standing there in the pouring rain, without so much as a coat on. Her hair was plastered to her head and she was shivering.

"Why?" was all she'd said.

Instead of answering her, he'd simply stepped aside and motioned for her to come inside. She'd moved past him and turned to look at him.

"Why?" she repeated.

"Because I wanted to."

He knows as soon as the words have left his lips that it was the wrong thing to say, and not what the answer she'd been seeking.

"And you always get what you want," she'd supplied angrily.

"Not always." His soft admission had startled her, and he was thankful that the angry glare had been erased from her face.

"You don't?"

"No."

"Oh." She'd turned this over in her mind for a moment, until finally he couldn't stand the sound of her chattering teeth any longer.

"Come into the parlor and sit by the fire." He'd led her into the parlor and rang for a house elf, ignoring the frown she gave him when the tiny creature appeared. "Bring my guest a warm blanket and a change of clothes, and bring her some cocoa as well."

When the elf was gone and he'd turned back to her, she was staring at him with something akin to wonder.

"What?" he'd asked defensively, sinking into the chair across from her.

"Nothing," she'd said, shaking her head. "It's just – I mean, I suppose I didn't think that you could be so-"

"Human?" he'd interrupted, rolling his eyes at her. She'd frowned.

_"Nice,"_ she'd corrected, raising her eyebrows at him. She'd remained silent as the house elf returned with a steaming mug of chocolate, a fluffy blanket, and a pile of clothes. Hermione had picked up the flannel pyjama pants and matching shirt, and shot an amused look at him. "I never figured you for the flannel type."

"Let me guess: silk and satin more your idea of comfortable pyjamas?"

"It seemed more fitting for you," she'd agreed, a smile cracking her face. He'd smiled back at her before he'd been able to help himself, and she'd gasped.

"Come on," he'd said angrily. "Is it really such a surprise to find out that I actually _smile?"_

"Yes." She'd stood and reached for the hem of her shirt. He'd watched in confusion until her wet shirt was lying on the floor and she was about to reach for the flannel shirt.

"What in Merlin's name do you think you're doing, Granger?" he'd drawled slowly, forcing his voice to remain steady. Her bra was soaked through, and her erect nipples were clearly visible through the thin fabric.

"You've seen it all before," she'd explained, her cheeks belying her calm voice as they flushed pink. When Draco hadn't made a move to touch her, she'd frowned at him. "Well?"

"Well, what?" He could remember staring at her slightly rounded stomach and thinking that while she wasn't perfectly formed, she had a prettiness to her – and Draco had always enjoyed pretty things.

"So I was good enough for you to kiss, but I'm not good enough for you to touch me again, is that it?"

His eyes had flown up to meet hers in surprise.

"Excuse me? Are you telling me that you want me to touch you?"

She'd put her hands on her hips and pursed her lips, but Draco had found that the gesture, which normally only infuriated or irritated him, amused him. "Are you really this stupid? Malfoy, God's gift to Witches everywhere, can't tell when a woman-" her voice had died, and she'd reached for the pyjama top with shaking hands.

He'd shot out of his chair lightning-fast and stilled her hand with his own. "Can't tell when a woman _what,_ Granger? When a woman _wants him?"_ Hermione's cheeks flushed even darker, but she'd met his eyes bravely.

"Yes."

"I'm not going to touch you again," he'd vowed softly, dropping his hand away from hers. She'd glared at him then.

"Why not? Not good enough for you?"

"Just the opposite, Granger. _Too_ good for me – now I'll thank you to gather your things and leave."

"No," she'd said, shaking her head. "You're not going to dismiss me that easily."

"Damn it!" he'd sworn, smacking the back of the chair he'd been sitting in. "Why do you _want_ me to touch you? I'm not one of the good guys, remember? Why don't you listen to your friends for a change?"

"I don't care what you say, I _know_ you're one of the good guys. I was out there with you, fighting beside you. I know what happened. My friends are going to believe whatever they're going to believe, but I _know,_ and they can't change my mind."

He'd stared at her as though she'd just told him she was a crumple-horned snorkack.

"You've gone round the twist," he'd accused. She'd taken a step towards him, and unable to move, he'd let her cradle his cheeks with her palms.

"I've never seen things so clearly," she'd whispered, her lips descending onto his.

_Trying to walk away without a move  
Trying to catch your eyes_

He sighs as he prepares a mug of cocoa and sinks into that same armchair that he'd had at the Manor. After that first night together, they'd begun meeting at least once a week. After a few weeks, it turned into twice a week. It had escalated until they were meeting once a day – until her friends began to suspect that something was going on.

He frowns deeply as he thinks of them. Her _friends._ Well, if they were such great friends, wouldn't they simply want her to be happy, no matter who it was with? He downs the rest of his cocoa as he dismisses this idea. He knows that no matter how happy he could make Hermione, her friends would always find fault with him.

What hurts him the most is that she would give him up for them.

_So they fall down  
Out of reach, out of sight_

She has turned her back on him, and it's all been for them.

_Are you scared of what you'll see?  
Are you scared of me?_

He begins to dress for bed, and as he does so, he wonders if she'll remember that they haven't shared a bed every time they've been together. He wonders if she'll remember their trip to the Louvre, their sightseeing in New York City, and the entire day that they spent in the gondolier in Venice.

_Immersed in love's encounter  
The heavens merge with hell_

Tears prick his eyes as he thinks about these things, and he has to swallow hard to force them down. He knows that if he dwells on them too long, they will consume him and burn him alive, the way that she did every time they were together.

He climbs into bed and shivers. It is not only because of the cold; it is also the emptiness of the bed that makes his entire body shake. To think that she will never touch him again, and that he will never be able to hold her again – he tries to push it to the back of his mind as he wraps his arms around himself and squeezes his eyes shut.

_My arms release my body  
Your arms hold what I held_

He is dreaming, and it's about her. It's always about her. He dreams that she's holding him, and that she's whispering words of love into his ear. In his dream, he asks her to marry him, but before she can answer, he is awoken by a strange noise.

He stumbles out of the bed and snaps on the light, and then moves to open his front door. He is utterly surprised when his eyes meet hers. She looks terrible – like she's been crying for a long time. He wonders how she can look that way, since she'd only just left him the morning before.

He stares at her for a moment before opening his door a little wider and allowing her to move past him and into the living room. Once she is safely inside and the door is shut, she turns to him. Her bottom lip is quivering.

"I can't do it," she cries.

He doesn't know what she means. He doesn't dare to hope that she means that she can't leave him, but why else would she be here, in his home?

_"Why_ can't I do it?" she begs, fresh tears falling down her face. She sniffles.

"Do what?" he asks cautiously.

"Leave you alone."

_Finally I know you'll take me  
Finally I know you fell_

He is too surprised to move or speak, and his heart is beating so fast that he fears it might leap out of his chest at any moment. She hangs her head and begins crying again.

"How did you know where to find me?" he asks, too stunned to voice any of his other thoughts. She blinks at him, and then heaves a heavy sigh.

"Locator spell."

"But I've-"

"I know, but working for the Ministry gives me special privileges, and I have access to spells that aren't used by the general population."

He digests this kernel of knowledge slowly. Then, "Do your friends know where you are?"

"Yes."

"Shit," he swears, closing his eyes. "That's all I need, Hermione."

"I'm sorry," she apologizes, her eyes still sparkling with unshed tears. "But I couldn't help myself."

"So what do you want from me?"

_I climb into your body  
Climb into my own cell_

She doesn't answer him with words. Instead, she moves forward and presses her lips to his, and all thoughts of protesting vanish instantly from his mind.

_What's on your mind tonight?  
Don't think too much, you'll go blind_

They are lying in his bed in the darkness when she snuggles close to his side. He can almost hear her comfort; her sense of contentment, and he wonders at it. How can she be content, when he knows that tomorrow morning when he wakes, she will be gone, and the cycle will start all over again?

"What are you thinking about?" she asks softly.

"You," he answers honestly. He feels her weight shift on the bed, and without being able to see her, he knows that she is propped up on her elbows, staring in his direction.

"What about me?"

"Why don't we go to sleep, and we can talk about it some other time."

"Is it bad?"

"No."

"Then why won't you tell me?"

He sighs in exasperation. He knows that he has to tell her _something,_ or she will keep asking.

_Make it easy – find a beast in me  
Now I'm not your type_

"I was just wondering how long you're going to stay this time." He can feel her stiffen beside him, and he braces himself for the worst.

"Why? Aren't you happy with what we have right now? Isn't it enough?"

"No, it isn't enough," he says coolly.

"What more do you want from me, Draco?"

"I don't want to hide anymore." _I want the world to know that you belong to me. You know it, I know it, and now your best friends know it. Why can't everyone else know it, too?_

"We're _not_ hiding," she says defensively. "Harry and Ron both know, which means that Ginny and Luna know, too."

"Fine, then go on a date with me tomorrow."

"In _public?"_

"That's generally how it's done, yes."

"I can't. You know that I can't." He feels her rise from the bed, and he can hear the rustling of her clothes as she gets dressed.

_And I'll fly solo into my loner love  
While you walk and play it safe_

"I don't understand," he says angrily, rising and turning the lights on. "Potter and Weasley both know, and yet you won't do it. Why?"

She hesitates before turning to face him. "I don't know. I just know that I can't do it. I can't give you what you want. I thought that this was enough for you."

"Is it enough for you?" he snaps. The wave of sadness that washes over her expression is his answer. He moves towards her and gently grips her arms with his hands. "Then why not?"

"I just can't." She shakes free from his grasp and slides her feet into her shoes.

"I'm not just going to sit around and wait for you," he says waspishly. She turns sad eyes to him, and he knows that he _will_ wait, no matter how long it takes.

"Do what you have to do, Draco." She turns and leaves before he can utter another syllable, and he collapses on his bed.

_Aren't you scared I'll leave?  
Do they mean more than me?_


End file.
